


feels like home

by smr



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Cute, Drabble, F/M, One Shot, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 21:38:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smr/pseuds/smr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things get a little out of hand when you're at home missing Harry... and some of his talents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	feels like home

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So, this is my first attempt at writing something (no wonder it's so short). Sometimes, I just get these flashes of situations involving the boys (mostly Zayn and Harry), and they're always so hot or cute that I figured I'd just start registering them in the form of drabbles. Hope you like it (be sure to tell me what you think, though, whatever that is)!

You’re having a _very_ vivid sex dream, and somewhere in your mind you acknowledge that it has something to do with the fact that Harry has been gone for a week and your body just can’t seem to be able to deal with that. This was the horniest week ever, no amount of phone sex could take the edge off… And now all of this hormonal madness was culminating in a scorching hot dream of his delicious lips all over you, feeding the flames even more. 

He’d called yesterday night, just before you went to sleep, like he’d been doing since he’d left. You couldn’t help yourself: you whined a bit about missing him, and he’d laughed and told you he couldn’t wait to see you either. Which was why he had tried to buy a ticket and catch the red-eye flight home, so he could be here with you by noon at the latest. But that hadn’t worked out, and he told you how sorry he was, and you told him that no, it was okay, babe, and I’ll see you in three more days, let’s hang in there.

The slightly conscious part of you thinks _‘What the hell. I’ve been going so crazy it has come to this point, I might as well use this to get off.”_ So you give yourself over to the dream, which only seems to make it feel even _more_ vivid. Your mind is doing an incredibly good job of remembering all the little details of the way Harry kisses and licks you. It doesn’t take long at all for you to get to that place you love, chasing the orgasm. In your dream, he’s eating you out and you’re moaning and whimpering like you can’t take anymore, even though all you want is for it to be harder, wetter, hotter.

You’re ready, an imaginary bite or lick away from coming, anything can tip you over the edge. You’re slightly more awake now, from the pleasure of it all, and you realize some of those sounds you were making weren’t really restricted to the dream. An especially well-placed flicker of a tongue makes a sound rise from your chest and leave the lips you are biting so hard on, and it’s soon accompanied by an all-too-real deep moan. A very _male_ moan you’d recognize under any circumstance and that makes every last ounce of dreaming vanish into thin air.

Your eyes shoot open, but it’s too late now, you’re coming _hard_ , your whole body convulsing deliciously from all the hot waves of pleasure washing over it. It’s a few moments before you regain your bearings and look down to a sight you would’ve never expected to be seeing. He has his huge right hand enveloping your hip, while the other one is resting on your tummy, a fist grabbing loosely the hem of the shirt (his, of course) you’d been wearing to sleep, hiking it up and out of the way, off your legs (yes, that’s how big it was on you). His chin rests on the very top of your left thigh and he’s looking at you with smiling evergreen eyes and a hint of dimples, curly brown hair mussed the way it usually gets after someone (he, grabbing stressfully; you, in loving caress) runs his hands through it. There’s enough sunlight coming in through the curtains that you can see a faint blush on his cheeks and how red his lips are. You can also feel his breath ghosting the sensitive skin that joins your leg and your hip, and the subtle change in its rhythm as he goes to speak is what finally makes you snap out of the daze.

“Hey, babe. Home early. Caught that flight after all, couldn’t wait. Missed you.” His voice is rough and with a quick glance to the side of the room you’re able to see his baggage stacked against the wall. He’s obviously just got here. A chaste, lingering kiss is pressed to the inside of your leg, so close to where you’ve just exploded that it makes a shiver run up your spine. Of course he notices and smirks, the right dimple deep on his cheek now. He scoots up and kisses your lips, long and slow, and you feel all the sweetness you two couldn’t share while he was away being put into it. 

He pulls back after a while, looks into your eyes and smiles. You smile back, stroking his hair where your hand is still buried in his curls from the kiss and enjoying the sweet silence. He gets this look that can only be described as longing (and you recognize it because you know it all too well, know it must be showing in your face too right at that moment) before he drops his head and buries his face on your neck — not kissing, just breathing you in and nuzzling you a little bit. 

You’re starting to drift off again before you hear his voice, quiet and reverent as he holds you tighter and repeats: “ _Missed you._ ” 

And your stomach does this little flip because yeah, you missed him too.


End file.
